


The Party Line

by IvyDevoss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Frustration, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyDevoss/pseuds/IvyDevoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/69130.html?thread=23166474#t23166474">Prompt from SPN Kink Meme</a>: "Cas prays to Dean, and though he doesn't know it, Dean can hear. This can be set whenever you like, but would like lots of angst and a bit of fantasizing out-loud please."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party Line

Castiel flew till he found himself someplace in between. Neither Earth nor Heaven. It was peaceful, though. He settled slowly and began to groom his feathers back into place, his Grace still vibrating with the intensity of the battle. Things had gotten so bad in Heaven recently that he hadn’t been able to return to Earth for months. That shouldn’t matter to him, of course; time was nothing but a trifle to immortal angels. But he knew what it meant to someone else. And that kept it reverberating inside his head.

He thought of Dean always, and had given up trying not to. At first, attempting to rationalize these circling purposeless thoughts, he had made excuses to himself. He had told himself it was a sort of mental inventory, a list with only one item on it. But this list, if it were written on paper, would be soft as silk now from the constant handling, the writing blurred and faded... legibility would be unnecessary anyway.

Castiel knit his brows in consternation as his fingers came upon a broken feather. His wing twitched instinctively away, but he caught it easily in his other hand, briefly grimacing as he jerked out the useless feather. The lingering pain sent his thoughts veering dangerously close to the events of the past few hours, and his jaw clenched as he recalled his brothers and sisters who had perished in the battle. In a last-ditch attempt to steer his mind in a different direction, Castiel let himself focus on his human again.

It didn’t come through clearly, but Castiel could sense a temporary glimmer of joy among the self-created darkness that plagued Dean’s soul. Dean was happy, driving his car, listening to his music, Sam asleep in the passenger’s seat next to him. Castiel fell into a sort of obsessive meditation, pausing in his grooming, sending every tendril of Grace curling outwards, searching for more Dean. The human’s energy sparked out in all directions, more bright and powerful than anything else Castiel knew, excepting the glory of Heaven.

Castiel longed to be closer to Dean’s soul. And not only because he’d been away in Heaven for so long. Even if he appeared right in front of his human this very moment, no more than a few inches away, it wouldn’t be close enough. These feelings were odd, but they wouldn’t leave him alone. Castiel wanted more closeness, in a different way. He didn’t understand it, and was angered by the lack of logic in his own mind.

He slowly began moving his fingers through his feathers again, more tenderly this time. He imagined what it would be like to stand close enough to touch Dean’s hair. Or brush a hand down over his eyes, coaxing them closed, and then feeling the minute tickle of his eyelashes as the hand passed to his cheekbone, jawline, chin, a thumb slipping up over the soft swell of his lips, the flesh warmer where the blood flowed so close to the surface behind the delicate skin...

Castiel’s eyes popped open in surprise. Entirely without his intention, his wings had puffed up, thick and bristling and shivering, and his careless strokes were now brushing his feathers the wrong way. Irritated, he preened them back into place, trying to ignore the strange sensitivity he felt. He wondered what it would feel like to have Dean’s hands on his wings. At that thought, the feathers fluttered again. Castiel swept a wing forward and glared at it. This was confusing and unprecedented. His wings were his Grace, they were _him_ ; they couldn’t just start doing things on their own. Maybe they needed to be used. Maybe he needed some air.

It was slightly difficult to fly with his feathers all fluffed up, but he managed it. Invisible, he found Dean. The brothers were settling into a motel room for the night, both of them in a good mood. Sam rolled his eyes and muttered something, and Dean laughed out loud in delight, sprawling on his bed and fiddling with a small mechanism attached to it. “Give me all your pocket change, Sam,” he playfully ordered.

Castiel suddenly couldn’t bear to observe the scene anymore, and left almost as quickly as he’d arrived. The Winchester brothers were content with each other. They were used to life on the road, just the two of them, no personal connections slowing them down. They didn’t need an angel.

Far away from the domestic comfort of that motel room, Castiel sank to Earth again, the sound of Dean’s laughter still in his ears. It sent a wild bright yearning through him, a heat that flooded his body and left an aching emptiness in its wake. Both his wings arched forward, concealing him in a dark cave of lonely silence. He lifted his hands and carded his fingers through his trembling feathers, imagining that it was Dean’s touch. But Dean would never touch him like this. Dean wasn’t able to see his wings.

“Dean,” the angel whispered. The word floated on his breath like a prayer, trapped in the makeshift cathedral of feathers surrounding him. The private space his wings created was so silent that he could hear the steady pounding of his borrowed body’s heart. He pressed a hand to his chest to feel it more strongly, and repeated “Dean.”

His skin suddenly felt unbearably sensitive to the soft brush of each feather. He clutched two handfuls of feathers and sinew tightly, a rougher touch than he’d ever used on himself before. It caused a surprising rush of pleasure to course through his vessel, combined with the aching knowledge that no hands but his own would ever bring him this sensation.

“Dean, you... you don’t need me.” His voice dropped to a whisper again. “I have almost every power you could possibly need. And yet... you didn’t need them, for years before you met me. All you needed was for me to lift you from Hell. And I did so. But I should have left after that. I should never have appeared to you in a physical form. I overstepped my boundaries. I outstayed my welcome. I broke all the rules when I kept coming back to you.”

His wings shuddered around him, a soft rustle like wind through the trees. “You thought I was assigned to watch over you. You didn’t know I had to beg for every opportunity to be sent to you. I was foolish. I simply wanted...” he trailed off, not knowing how to complete the sentence. “I wanted to be near you.” The sentence was still incomplete.

***

Sam had gone out to buy something for dinner, anything. Dean wasn’t picky. He had just told Sam to make sure he got plenty of quarters in change. He lounged back on his bed, scanning the local newspaper. He wasn’t really expecting to find anything here – they were just passing through town – but old habits die hard.

Suddenly a splash of warmth hummed through him from head to toe, and he half sat up in surprise, glancing at the Magic Fingers. Had it somehow turned itself on? That would be awesome, then he wouldn’t have to wait for Sammy to get back with the quarters. But no, the machine was definitely off. So where had that weird sensation come from? _Dean,_ he thought. Wait, hang on: why was he thinking his own name? No, he wasn’t! That had been–– _DEAN,_ it came again, stronger, with an urgency behind it.

“Cas,” Dean gasped aloud, springing to his feet. “Castiel? You there?”

The room remained still and empty.

“Dude, are you talking in my head all of a sudden?” Dean asked the silence skeptically. “Not that it ain’t a nifty trick, but, uh... why didn’t you ever do it before?”

 _Dean, you... you don’t need me._ Dean frowned and opened his mouth, but Castiel’s voice in his head continued. It was like the moment you start talking to the person who picked up the phone, but then they keep going and you realize it’s an answering machine.

_I have almost every power you could possibly need. And yet... you didn’t need them, for years before you met me. All you needed was for me to lift you from Hell. And I did so._

“Castiel!” Dean barked aloud. Maybe he could get through to Cas through sheer volume. “Come on, where are you?”

_But I should have left after that. I should never have appeared to you in a physical form. I overstepped my boundaries. I outstayed my welcome. I broke all the rules when I kept coming back to you._

“No, you...” Dean trailed off and sat down on the bed again, his eyes flicking back and forth nervously as he concentrated on the voice in his head. Castiel had never spoken this honestly to him in person. Which was why Dean was starting to suspect the angel didn’t know that he was broadcasting live.

_You thought I was assigned to watch over you. You didn’t know I had to beg for every opportunity to be sent to you. I was foolish. I simply wanted..._

“Cas,” Dean breathed, struck speechless.

_I wanted to be near you._

These words were followed by a prickling shiver that seeped through Dean’s consciousness, somewhat dully, as if it were coming from far away. _Dean,_ Castiel’s voice pleaded again, now noticeably heated.

“Cas, damn it!” Dean growled, balling his hands into fists. “I’m right here! If you need something, you gotta come here. ‘Cause I can’t find you on my own...”

 _Dean! I wish..._ Dean caught his breath and listened with burning intensity. If a disembodied voice could whimper, that was what Castiel was doing now. Was he hurt? Dean was furious at his own helplessness. He was trapped here in this damn motel room, and Castiel might be dying somewhere. Why didn’t the idiot angel just zap himself over here?

 _Dean,_ Castiel’s voice gasped softly. _I wish you could see my wings. I wish you could touch them._

Oh. Dean blinked. He had not been expecting to hear that.

 _I wish you could hear my true voice. And see me. I know all of you. I wish I could share myself with you in the same way. I wish..._ He seemed to choke up for a moment before continuing. _I wish I could give myself over to you entirely, the way you gave yourself to me when I rescued you in Hell._

“Okay, now hang on a minute,” Dean protested. “I did not ‘give myself’ to you! I’m my own man. I don’t remember what happened down there, but I’m pretty sure––”

 _Deeeannn,_ Castiel openly moaned, a pang of longing accompanying the thought. Dean suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Maybe he had completely misjudged this scene. Maybe Cas wasn’t dying at all. Maybe––

 _I wish you could groom my wings._ A shy blossoming burst of fondness came along with these words. _I wish you would care for them after I was damaged in battle. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with them._

Dean swallowed. He was apparently stuck on this party line for as long as the show was playing, and he just hoped that the denouement of this drama wasn’t going to be... well... what it seemed, considering the increasingly fervent heat coming across their mental link from Castiel’s side. The angel’s tone was intensifying, full of raw want, pulsing across the connection like flares of electricity. And Dean would be a liar if he claimed it wasn’t affecting him as well.

Castiel sounded as if he were in some sort of ecstatic religious trance by now, chanting Dean’s name over and over as their mental connection surged, when the idea suddenly struck.

Dean closed his eyes with determination, swallowing hard to try to distract himself from the crescendo of second-hand emotion in his mind, and spoke aloud, focusing on each word as it left his lips.

“Dear Castiel, Angel of the Lord who might be forgetting himself just a little bit right now, I pray to you to please oh please stop doing whatever the hell you’re doing and get over here, now. This has been a prayer. A very official prayer! So I really freakin’ hope you hear it. Amen.”

With a somewhat louder and more disorganized fluttering of wings than usual, the angel in question popped into existence in front of Dean. His eyes were glazed over and he looked markedly disheveled, but when he cleared his throat and said “Hello, Dean” in the same gravelly tone as always, Dean received confirmation that Cas had no idea he’d been putting on a telepathic show. The realization made Dean smirk.

“Hey, Cas. Everything all right? You look a little... out of it.”

“I am quite well, thank you,” Castiel replied frostily. “Why did you call me here?”

Dean shook his head with a little smile, trying for his usual cockiness, although it seemed to be just out of reach. “Listen, uh... what you were just doing? I heard it. You were on the air, buddy. Did you not know that?”

Castiel paused briefly, lifting his chin with a strange glitter in his eyes that he cloaked again almost at once. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. Really.” Dean stood up, went over to the angel and pulled the bottom corner of Jimmy’s suit jacket out of his pants, where it had been accidentally tucked in. With it came a small black feather that floated lazily to the ground. Castiel’s jaw clenched, barely visibly, but he kept his eyes steady on Dean. The air prickled as they stood face to face for a stretching silent moment, and then Dean sighed and bent to grab the feather from the floor. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I didn’t need anything. You can go do your secret angel stuff.”

Castiel’s eyes burned into the hand that held the feather, but he couldn’t find his voice to ask for it back. So instead he vanished. And when he was far away, somewhere with no humans and no breath and no form, he let the confused fury and despair sweep over him and wash him away.


End file.
